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Authors: Florence Osmund

Tags: #Contemporary, #(v5)

Regarding Anna

BOOK: Regarding Anna
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Copyright © 2015 by Florence Osmund

All rights reserved.

Book Cover Design: Tugboat Design

Formatting: Tugboat Design

www.tugboatdesign.net

DISCLAIMER

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

 

 

I wish to thank the following people for their assistance in creating this book.

To my editor, Carrie Cantor, thank you for your insightful feedback, being patient with me as I struggled with the right POV and narrative tense for this story, challenging me when I needed it, and making the story better.

I wish to acknowledge graphic designer, Deborah Bradseth of Tugboat Design, for an intriguing cover design and meticulous print and e-book formatting.

And a special thanks to Marge Bousson, for catching things no one else did—like you have to let a cake right out of the oven cool first before you can frost it—and other things.

ONE

The Kindness of Strangers

Under different circumstances I could have been a carefree twenty-two-year-old driving to Oak Street Beach for a much-needed reprieve from the sweltering heat instead of sitting on the No. 54 bus headed for a shady neighborhood on Chicago’s South Side in search of Erma Fincutter. I had no one but myself to blame for my discontent—I could have simply accepted my uncertain parentage four years ago and moved on with my life in a more conventional way. But if I was right about things, all the aggravation I would endure in search of the truth would pay off in the end. If I was right about things.

Erma Fincutter was a missing teenager whose mother had hired me to find her. I’d named it the Green Teen case—Erma had been wearing a green coat the day she ran away. Naming cases helped me distance myself from the people whose reason for contacting me was almost always something unfortunate. Being a private investigator was not a particularly heartening profession.

If I had a car it would have taken me all of twenty minutes to reach my destination, and I wouldn’t have been stuck sitting so close to Mr. Body Odor and listening to the two crabby old hens behind me complain about everything. The bus was full. Summer sweat dripped off the brows of most of the passengers, and the thick air that held us captive in tight quarters wasn’t moving.

Louise Fincutter, the child’s mother, suspected her daughter had fled to a side of her family about which Louise knew very little—she had divorced Erma’s mixed-race father just a few months after their wedding, calling the marriage the biggest mistake of her life. After locating Erma’s two half-brothers and having reason to believe she was with them, I was obligated to pay them a visit regardless of the neighborhood. It was broad daylight, so I figured I’d be safe.

The second I stepped off the bus, I realized I was out of my element. Cheerless houses with boarded-up windows lined a potholed street cluttered with beat-up cars and a variety of trash. An unidentifiable smell permeated the air. I was tempted to turn around, hop on a bus headed in the opposite direction, and go home. But I had a job to do.

I walked a block. My stomach churned, telling me to reconsider. But if I turned back, it would have meant I was incapable of doing the job, and I wasn’t about to make that admission. I had too much at stake personally.

Stares from the pedestrians and people hanging out of car windows driving down Twenty-fourth Street seemed more sinister the farther I went, and the address I was looking for was another three blocks away. My brain knew I shouldn’t continue, but the message hadn’t gotten to my legs yet.

As my uneasiness heightened, I tried to imagine who lived here, what their days were like, how they ended up here. I thought about children growing up in this kind of environment, the opportunities they probably didn’t even know they were missing. I thought about my own situation, and all of a sudden my troubles didn’t seem so bad.

“Yo, gorgeous. You loss er somepin’?”

I nearly jumped out of my shoes at the sound of the male voice. Still walking, I turned my head and saw a dark-skinned man with a huge scar running down the side of his face approaching me. The bile reached my throat so fast I didn’t know if I could get the words out.

“I know where I’m going,” I managed to say. I pumped my legs faster, even though it felt as though my knees could have buckled under me at any second.

He grabbed my arm and forced me to look at him. The scar appeared too aged for such a young face.

“Look, sweetheart, you be in the wrong ’hood. You keep goin’ in
that
direction, I promise you, you’ll find trouble.”

I sensed he was right.

“Howdya git here?”

“The bus.”

“Which one?”

I didn’t know if he was trying to help me or had some other motive.

“The fifty-four.”

“C’mon, I’ll walk ya back there.”

“Can you let go of my arm…please?”

He dropped my arm with a thrust.

“I appreciate your kindness, but really…” I knew that sounded lame, but it was all I had.

“Uh-huh. Best know I got betta things to do with my time.”

He turned around and headed toward the bus stop. I wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t sure what he
expected
me to do, but it didn’t matter much because my legs felt frozen.

He turned around.

“I’m tellin’ you, don’t you bein’ around here if you don’t want to get hurt.” He gestured for me to follow him.

His walk was fast and full of attitude, and I couldn’t keep up without running.

“What in the hell are you doin’ here anyway?” he asked without turning around.

“I’m looking for someone. Erma Fincutter.” Right after I said it, I realized I shouldn’t have given out her name.

“Breed bitch?”

“Excuse me?”

He turned around to face me. “She mixed? Looks white. ’Bout sixteen, seventeen?”

“Yes.”

The man shook his head. “Stupid private dick. You’ll back outta this one if you know what’s good for ya.” He glanced down the street. “Here’s your bus. I’d get on it if I was you.” He disappeared behind a parked van.

BOOK: Regarding Anna
13.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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